


One Cannot be Brave (Who has no Fear)

by arcticfrostdoesthings



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27384961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcticfrostdoesthings/pseuds/arcticfrostdoesthings
Summary: Virgil has hated the Renegades all his life, ever since they had failed to save his family. He’s made it his mission to take down the Renegades, and he’ll do anything to achieve his goal-even become one of them and tear them apart from the inside.Or, a Renegades au
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

_ In the beginning, everyone was a villain. _

_ For hundreds of years, prodigies were feared. We were oppressed. Hunted. Tormented. Crowds gathered to watch us be beaten, hanged, and stoned, proud to rid the world of one more abomination. _

_ They were afraid. And rightfully so. _

_ Hundreds of years passed before someone tried to change things. _

_ His name was Ace Anarchy. And he changed everything. _

_ He gathered the strongest prodigies he could find, and together, they rebelled against the governments that tortured them. Buildings were torn from their foundations. Entire freeways reduced to rubble. When the military retaliated, Ace crushed them easily. _

_ Whole governments, gone. Law enforcement, disbanded. Politicians, bureaucrats, government officials, all dead in a matter of weeks. _

_ The Anarchists cared little for what would come next after the old world crumbled. They only wanted change, and they got it. _

_ It wasn’t long before Ace Anarchy’s influence spread to the rest of the world. For the first time in history, prodigies banded together. They demanded fair treatment and human rights and protection under the law, and in some countries, the panicking governments hastened to cater to them. _

_ But in other countries, the rebellions turned violent and dissolved into anarchy. _

_ Chaos rose to fill the void that civilized society left behind. Trade and manufacturing ground to a halt. Wars erupted on every continent. The fear and distrust that followed the rebellions would last another twenty years. _

_ They call it the Age of Anarchy. _

_ It became every man for themself. Neighbors stole from each other. Stores were looted, leaving children to starve in the gutters. It became strong against the weak, and it turns out, the strong are usually jerks. _

_ With no one to turn to, we became rats scrounging in the sewers. _

_ Villain gangs ruled Gatlon city for twenty years, while crime spread like a disease. The Age of Anarchy might have gone on for another twenty years, if it weren’t for the Renegades. _

_ Bright, sparkling superheroes, dressed in capes and masks and a promise to solve all your problems and rain justice on all your foes. _

_ Overnight, the people had hope. _

_ Hope called themselves the Renegades. _

Virgil had been looking for the toy gun he’d found behind the house a few days ago for an hour, to no avail. He had multiple toy guns, but the one he was looking for was special because he had built it himself. At six years old, he’d learned he had to be resourceful and to get by on the scraps he scavenged. He knew his parents would take them away if they found the scraps, so he hid them in an old shoe box that he kept behind his closet. He knew they would come in handy one day.

He checked under the old mattress that he slept on. He let out a tiny cry of victory as he found the toy gun he’d been searching for. He took it in his hands and aimed it at the wall, giggling when a ball of rubber shot out. 

A cry from the next room intruded on the moment, followed by his mother’s cooing voice. Virgil frowned at his closed bedroom door. Evie was sick again. She’d been sick for the past week, but they had run out of medicine ages ago. Uncle Alec was supposed to be bringing more, but it might be hours still.

Uncle Alec has always brought them stuff when they needed it. When he overheard his father asking Uncle Alec for more medicine, he’d considered asking for that chocolate bar he had given him for his birthday, or a screwdriver.

He could do a lot with a screwdriver.

But Papà must have guessed that Virgil wanted to ask for something, and had given him a look that silenced him. He wasn’t sure what that look meant. Uncle Alec had always been good to them, bringing food and even toys occasionally, but his parents never liked to ask for things. If they wanted something specific, they had to make a trade at the market.

The last time her dad had gone to the market, he’d come back with a bottle for Evie and a cut above his eye. His mom had stitched it up herself. Virgil had watched, fascinated to see that it was exactly how she had fixed Luna the cat when her leg had fallen off.

Virgil turned back to his toy gun, trying to ignore the crying even when it became louder and his parents’ effort to comfort Evie grew more frantic. 

The neighbors would start to complain soon.

He put the gun down and sighed, standing up.

Papà was holding Evie in the front room, bouncing her in his arms in an attempt to calm her. He put a cool cloth on her forehead, but she only wailed louder as she tried to shove it away.

Virgil stepped forward. “Do you want some help?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil,” he said. “I know it’s not fair to ask you to do it… but if she could just sleep for another hour or two… rest would be good for her.”

“I don’t mind,” Virgil said, reaching for Evie. “It’s easy.”

Papà frowned as he handed him the baby. Virgil had the impression that his father didn’t like his power. He never understood why. All it did was make the apartment more peaceful.

Virgil adjusted his hold on Evie. She was getting heavy, nothing like the infant she had been a year ago. Now she was all chubby thighs and flailing arms.

Virgil sat down on one of the mattresses in the corner of the room. Evie was so feverish that holding her felt like holding a miniature furnace.

He sank into the soft pillows and blankets and placed his thumb on his sister’s cheek, wiping away a fat tear. He let his power roll through him, a gentle and easy pulse.

The crying stopped.

Evie’s eyes fluttered shut and her breathing evened out. Just like that, she was asleep.

Virgil looked up to see his father’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you, Virgil. Maybe she’ll feel better when she wakes up.”

He watched as his father sank into an armchair, massaging his temple for a moment before squaring his shoulders and beginning to work on some new project. Virgil wasn’t sure what he was making, but he loved watching him work. Papà’s gift was much more interesting than his. Virgil wasn’t sure what he was making, but he loved to watch him work- the way he could pull threads of energy out of the air and sculpt them into any shape he wanted intrigued him.

It was beautiful to watch. Mesmerizing even, as the glowing strips emerged from nothing, then darkening as his father let them harden and turned them into something tangible.

“What are you making, Papà?” Virgil asked.

He glanced over, and a shadow crossed over his face even as he smiled. “I’m not sure yet,” he said, his fingers tracing the delicate metalwork. “Maybe… something I hope will right some of the injuries I’ve caused this world.”

He sighed, and Virgil frowned.

“Papà?” he said after he watched his father work for a while. “Are we going to be okay?”

His father fixed him with a devastated stare. “Of course we are, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

He set his work down on the table and leaned back in his chair. For a moment, it looked like he was going to cry, but then he blinked and the moment passed.

“Listen to me, Virgil,” he said, slipping out of his chair and crouching down in front of him. “There are many bad people in the world. But there are also many good people. Brave people. No matter how hard things get, we have to remember that. So long as there are heroes in the world, there’s hope.”

“The Renegades,” he said with a tinge of awe.

His father gave him a small smile. “The Renegades,” he confirmed.

Virgil pressed his cheek against Evie’s soft hair. The Renegades did seem to be helping everyone these days. Renegades breaking up a gunfight between two gangs. Renegades bringing food to an orphanage. Renegades rescuing a child that had fallen into Harrow bay. 

“When we need them...” her father said. “When we really need them, they’ll be here, alright? They’ll protect us.” he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Virgil didn’t question it. The Renegades were the good guys. Everyone knew that. They were always helping, always showing up at the right moment. That’s just what they did.

His gaze lingered on his father’s hands as he resumed his work. Watching them mold, sculpt, tug more threads of energy from the air.

Virgil’s own eyelids started to droop, and he quietly slipped into sleep.

A door slammed, jerking Virgil awake. Evie huffed and rolled away from him.

Virgil sat up and shook out his arm, still groggy and disoriented. There were low voices in the hallway. Papà, sounding tense, and his mom, murmuring pleadingly.

He pushed off the blanket that had been draped over them, tucking it around Evie. He crept past the table where a delicate copper colored bracelet sat.

When he reached the front door, he turned the knob as slowly as he could, prying the door open just enough for him to look into the dim hall.

A man stood in front of his parents-stubble on his chin, and light hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was wearing a heavy black jacket, though it wasn’t cold outside.

He was also holding a gun.

Virgil immediately shrank back, and the man glanced at her. His attention slid back to his father as if he hadn’t seen him.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” Papà said. He had put himself between the man and Mom. “Let me talk to him, I’m sure I can explain-”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” the man interrupted. “You have betrayed his trust, Mr. Artino. He does not like that.”

“Please,” his mom said. “The children are here. Please have mercy.”

He cocked his head as if considering her words. His eyes shifted between his parents.

Virgil wasn’t sure if he’d been this scared in his life.

“Let me talk to him,” his father repeated. “We haven’t done anything. I’m still loyal, I swear. And my family… please don’t hurt my family.”  
“My orders were quite clear. My job isn’t to ask questions… or to have mercy.”

His father took a step back. “Go get the children,” he said to his mother.

“David…” his mother whimpered, taking a step toward the door.

She had barely moved when the man raised his gun.

A gunshot.

Virgil gasped, covering his mouth with his hand. Blood splattered onto the ground. Papà screamed and grabbed his wife. He trembled as his mom wheezed and choked. 

“No survivors,” the man said in an even tone. “Those were my orders. You have only yourself to blame for this, Mr. Artino.”

Virgil’s father caught sight of him behind the door. His eyes widened in panic. “Virgil, ru-”  
Another gunshot.

This time, Virgil was the one that screamed. His father collapsed over his mom, and he stared at both of them in horror.

He turned and fled into the apartment, past the kitchen, and into his bedroom. He slammed the door closed and threw his closet open. He stumbled over the books and toolboxes that littered the floor and crouched in the corner, gasping for breath. The vision of his parents lying on the floor was burned into his mind. He knew he should have gone for the fire escape, but it was too late.

Too late, he remembered-

His eyes widened in horror.

Evie.

He’d left Evie out there.

He tried to bite back a sob, but he wasn’t successful. His hand fell to the closet door and tried to gauge how quickly he could get to the living room and back, if there was a chance he could retrieve Evie without being seen…

The front door creaked, and he froze.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice Evie. 

He listened to the creaking floorboards, anxiety welling up inside him.

Virgil was shaking so hard, he was afraid the clattering of his bones would give him away. He also knew it didn’t matter.

It was a small apartment, and there was nowhere to run.

_ The Renegades will come, _ he thought desperately. It was a fleeting hope, but he clung to it.

_ Bang. _

His mother’s blood on the floor.

He whimpered. “The Renegades will come.” his voice was barely a whisper.

They had to. They always did.

_ Bang. _

His father’s body crumbling in the hall.

He squeezed his eyes shut as hot tears spilled onto his cheeks.

He snapped his eyes open as Evie started to cry in the other room.

_ Please, Please let them come... _

A third gunshot.

The air caught in his throat. He sank onto the floor of the closet.

Evie had stopped crying.

Distantly, he heard the man moving through the apartment, checking every cupboard, every cabinet.

He was slow, methodical.

By the time he found Virgil, he had stopped shaking. The words still echoed in his head, but they had lost their meaning.

_ The Renegades… The Renegades will come… _

Virgil lifted his eyes. The man stood above him. Later, he would recall how there was no emotion on his face. No regret, no remorse.

He pressed the gun against Virgil’s forehead.

He suddenly reached up and grabbed the man’s wrist, unleashing his power with more force than he ever had before.

The man’s jaw slackened. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward. The whole building seemed to shake with his fall.

Virgil forced himself to stand.

He picked up the gun, though it was heavy and awkward in his hands. He slipped his fingers over the trigger.

He took a step closer, stepping out of the closet. He aimed at the man’s chest, hands trembling.

_ Bang. _ His mother was dead.

_ Bang. _ His father.

_ Bang. _ Evie.

The Renegades had not come. 

They were not going to come.

“Pull the trigger,” he whispered. “Pull the trigger, Virgil.”

But he never did. He couldn’t.

Minutes (or was it hours?) later, his uncle found him. He was still standing over the man’s sleeping form, ordering himself to pull the trigger. 

“Virgil?” His uncle said, dropping a plastic bag to the floor. He startled and turned the gun on his uncle.

Uncle Alec didn’t even flinch as he crouched in front of him. He was dressed as he always was- in his black and gold uniform, and a copper helmet that obscured most of his face. “Virgil… your parents… Your sister…” he reached for the gun. Virgil didn’t resist as he took it from him. “I’d always thought you might be one of us, but your father never told me what it was you could do.

He met his eyes. Pity, perhaps admiration.

With that look, Virgil fell apart, throwing himself into his arms. “Uncle Alec,” he wailed. “He- he shot them, he killed…”

He picked him up, cradling him against his chest. “I know,” he murmured. “I know, but you’re safe now. I’ll protect you.”

He barely heard him over his sobs and the noise in his head. The gunshots.

“But you can’t call me Alec anymore, not out there. All right, my little nightmare?” he smoothed his hair. “To the rest of the world, I’m Ace. Understand? Uncle Ace.”  
But he wasn’t listening. And maybe he knew that.

Uncle Ace squeezed him tight, aimed the gun at the sleeping man, and pulled the trigger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil attends the Renegade parade.

_ Ten years later _

The streets of Gatlon City were overflowing with fake superheroes.

Children ran around in brightly colored capes, screeching and waving around Blacklight themed sparklers over their head, or shooting one another with tsunami themed squirt guns. Grown men had squeezed themselves into blue leggings and shoulder pads to look like the Captain’s armor. Others had shown up in the Dread Warden’s signature costume, and even more had strapped cheap replicas of Thunderbird’s black feathered wings to their backs.

Oh, how Virgil despised the Renegade parade.

The street vendors weren’t any better, hawking everything from cheesy light-up wands to tiny plush versions of the famous Renegade quintet. Even the food trucks were celebrating the day’s theme, with Captain Chromium funnel cakes and Tsunami fish’n’chips baskets and one sign advertising  _ DREAD WARDEN’S FAVORITE POPCORN CHICKEN—GET SOME NOW BEFORE IT DISAPPEARS! _

If Virgil had had an appetite to begin with, he would have lost it by now.

A great cheer rose up from the crowd as the noise of a marching band approached. Trumpets, drums, and the thumping of synchronized musicians moved through the street. Cannons blasted overhead, dousing the crowd in confetti. The children went nuts. The adults weren’t much better.

Virgil shook his head, sighing. He stood at the back of the crowd, meaning he couldn’t see much of the actual parade, but that was fine by him. His arms were crossed, fingers drumming on his elbow impatiently. Already it felt like he had been standing there for an eternity.

The cheering suddenly turned into boos, which only meant one thing. The first floats had come into view.

It was tradition for the villain floats to go first, to really get the crowd riled up. Today was the ninth anniversary of the Battle for Gatlon, when the Renegades had taken on the Anarchists in a bloody battle, ending with dozens of deaths on both sides.

The Renegades had won, of course. Ace’s revolutionaries were defeated and the few villains that didn’t perish in the battle crawled away into hiding.

And Ace…

Ace Anarchy was dead. Destroyed in the explosion that leveled half of the cathedral he had made his home.

The day officially marked the end of the Age of Anarchy, and the start of the Council’s rule.

They called it the Day of Triumph.

Virgil looked up to see an enormous balloon that almost spanned the width of the street as it floated down it. It was a cartoon-like replica of Atomic Brain, who had been one of Ace’s closest allies before the Renegades killed him years ago. Virgil hadn’t known him personally, but he still felt a twinge of resentment at the way he was treated.

The crowd laughed and laughed. 

A tiny transmitter crackled in his ear.

“And so it begins,” came Ingrid’s voice, low and unamused.

“Let them laugh,” Phobia responded. “They won’t be laughing for much longer. Nightmare, are you in position?”

“Roger,” Virgil said, careful not to move his lips too much in case someone was watching him. “Just want to know which rooftop you want me on.”

Virgil glanced across the street at the second level floor of an office building, where Ingrid- or the Detonator, as the public knew her- was peering out through the blinds.

The booing of the crowd started up again, more enthusiastic than before. Virgil caught a glimpse of an elaborate float. On it was a miniature scale version of Gatlon City. Actors dressed as some of the most well known members of Ace’s gang stood among the buildings. Virgil recognized Rat and brimstone, both killed by the Renegades, but before he could be offended on their behalf, he spotted a dark figure near the top of the float. A surprised laugh escapes him, easing some of the anxiety.

“Phobia,” he said. “Did you know they were going to put you on the villain floats this year?”

A hiss came through his ear piece. “We are not here to admire the parade.”

Virgil smirked, hiding another laugh. “Don’t worry, you look good up there.” he eyed the actor. He had donned a long black cloak and was carrying a plastic scythe. But when he opened his cloak, rather than being consumed by shadows, the actor revealed a pale, skinny physique wearing nothing but lime green swimming briefs. “They may have taken a few liberties.”

“I think I like it better,” Ingrid said with a snort.

“It certainly inspires terror.” Virgil added.

Phobia said nothing.

“Is that…” Ingrid started. “Oh my holy bomb squad, they have a Deceit this year.”

Virgil looked again. At first, the actor was concealed on the other side of the cityscape, but then he moved into view and Virgil’s eyes shot upward. The actor sported a cane with a rubber snake wrapped around the handle. His black and yellow sequined cloak could not be gaudier as it sparkled in the sunlight. He had a lizard wrapped around his neck and was holding another snake around his arm, hissing at the crowd.

“Wow, that’s not actually a bad impersonation,” Virgil said.

“I can’t wait to tell Janus,” Ingrid said. “We should be recording this.”

Virgil’s eyes darted over the crowd for the thousandth time, feeling restless. “Aren’t you offended that there isn’t a Detonator?”

A beat. “Well, I am now.”

Virgil turned back to the parade. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to see if he could spot any more comrades when a large crash startled the crowd. The top of the tallest building on the float- a replica of the Merchant Tower- had just blown upward, and a new figure was emerging, cackling as he raised his hands toward the sky. 

Virgil clamped his jaw shut, the moment of amusement doused by a rush of fury.

The Ace Anarchy costume was the closest to reality- the familiar black and gold suit, the bold, iconic helmet.

Within seconds, people had started to reach for the rotten fruits and wilted cabbages they’d brought with them just for this purpose. They started pummeling the villain float, shouting obscenities and mocking the villains. The actors ducked behind buildings and screeched in feigned terror.

Virgil swallowed, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen only when the float had passed. 

The floats were followed by a band of acrobats and a Thunderbird balloon flying overhead. Virgil spotted a banner above propped up on tall poles, advertising the upcoming Renegade trials.

_ Bold. Valiant. Just. Do you have what it takes to be a hero? _

He faked a loud gagging sound, and an old lady gave him a sour look.

A body suddenly crashed into him and Virgil stumbled backward, his hands instinctively landing on the kids shoulders and righting her before she fell into the pavement.

Virgil looked down at the girl. “Watch it.”

The girl looked up. A domino mask covered her face, making her look like a smaller, scrawnier version of the Dread Warden.

“What was that, Nightmare?” Ingrid said. Virgil didn’t reply.

The girl muttered an apology then turned and wove back into the teeming crowd.

Virgil adjusted his shirt and was about to turn back to the parade when he saw the kid bump into someone else. Only, rather than set her right as Virgil had done, the stranger stooped low, grabbed the girl’s ankle, and turned her upside down in one swift motion.

Virgil gaped as the stranger hauled the girl kicking and screaming back in his direction. He was roughly his age, but much taller and with darker skin. The way he strolled through the crowd made it seem more like he was carrying a plush doll instead of a kicking, screaming child.

He stopped in front of Virgil, a patient smile on his face. He didn’t seem to notice the bewildered expression on his face.

“Give it back,” the stranger said. 

“Put me down!” the girl shrieked. “Let me go!”

Virgil scanned the nearby crowd, trying not to let his nervousness show. There were far too many people watching them. Watching  _ him _ .

That wasn’t good.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Put her down.”

His smile became more serene, and Virgil narrowed his eyes. There was something unsettlingly familiar about him, and he wracked his brain trying to determine where he knew him from or if he was a threat or not.

“Alright, Mini-Magpie,” he said, in a somewhat patronizing tone. “You’ve got three seconds before I send in a request to put you on probation. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure the janitorial crew has been needing help lately…”

The girl huffed and stopped struggling. “I hate you,” she growled, digging around in her pocket and pulling something out of it. She held something out to Virgil, who reluctantly held out his palm.

A bracelet- his bracelet- dropped into his palm.

Virgil looked at his wrist, where a faint line marked the spot where he had been wearing a bracelet for years.

Ingrid’s voice sounded in his ear again. “What’s happening down there, Nightmare?”

Virgil didn’t respond. He fixed the child with a glare, who only glared back.

The boy dropped her, but the girl rolled easily when she hit the pavement and had sprung back to her feet before Virgil could blink.

“I’m not going to report this,” the boy said. “Because I think you can make better choices after this. Right, Magpie?”

The girl shot him a disgusted look. “You’re not my dad, Sketch.” she then turned and stomped around the nearest corner.

Virgil squinted at the boy. “She’s just going to rob someone else, you know.”

Ingrid’s voice buzzed in his ear. “Nightmare, who are you talking to? Who’s getting robbed?”

“-can hope that it will make her rethink her options,” the boy was saying. His eyes met Virgil’s for a brief second before dropping down to his closed fist. “Do you want help with that?”

He covered his fist with his other hand. “With what? The bracelet?”

He nodded and, before Virgil could register what was happening, he had taken his hand and peeled open his fingers. He took the bracelet from his grip as Virgil stood, stunned. 

“When I was a kid,” the boy said. “My mom used to always ask me to help with her brace-” he paused. “Oh. The clasp is broken.”

Virgil, who had been scrutinizing his face with wary bewilderment, looked down at his bracelet. “That little brat!” he hissed.

“Virgil?” Ingrid said, more urgent this time. “Have you been compromised?”

Virgil ignored her.

“It’s okay,” said the boy. “I can fix it.”

“Fix it?” he said, trying to pull the bracelet back, but his grip was firm. “You don’t understand. That bracelet, it isn’t… it’s…”

“No, trust me,” he said, pulling a black marker out of his back pocket. He wrapped the bracelet around Virgil’s wrist and the sensation of the unfamiliar touch made him freeze.

Holding the bracelet with one hand, he uncapped the marker with his teeth and bent over his wrist. He began to draw onto his skin between the two ends of the broken bracelet. Virgil stared at the drawing- two small links connecting the filigree and, between them, a delicate clasp.

When he had finished, the boy capped the marker and brought Virgil’s wrist up closer to his face. He blew- a soft, barely there breath across the inside of his wrist that sent goosebumps racing up his arm.

The drawing came to life, rising up out his arm and taking physical form. The links merged with the rest of the bracelet, and he stared at it, bewildered.

“What about the stone?” the boy asked, turning his wrist over and tapping the empty space with his marker.

“That was already missing,” Virgil said quickly.

“Want me to draw one anyway?”

“No!” he said, yanking his arm away. “No thank you,” he added hastily as he caught the look of surprise on the boy’s face.

The boy shrugged. “Okay.”

Virgil twisted his arm back and forth. The clasp held.

The boy’s smile took on a hint of pride.

He was obviously a prodigy, but also…

“Renegade?” he asked.

“Renegade?” Ingrid cried. “Who are you talking to, Virgil? Why aren’t you-”

The crowd burst into cheers, drowning out the rest of Ingrid’s sentence. A series of fireworks shot from the parade float that had just emerged.

“Looks like the headliners have arrived,” the boy said, somewhat disinterested.

Phobia’s voice crackled. “West Station, Nightmare.”

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Roger.”

The boy turned back to him. “It’s Roman, actually.”

He took a step back. “I have to go.” he turned on his heel and pushed his way through a group of costumed Renegade supporters. 

“Renegade Trials next week!” one of them said, shoving a piece of paper at him. “Open to the public! Come one, Come all!”

Virgil crumpled the paper in his hand and shoved it in his pocket without looking at it. Behind him, he heard the boy yell, “Your welcome!”

He didn’t look back.

“Target passing Altcorp,” Phobia hissed as he ducked into an alley. “What’s your status, Nightmare?”

Virgil checked the alleway was empty before hauling himself onto a dumpster. His duffel bag was there, warm to the touch from sitting in the sun.

“Just grabbing my things,” he said, snatching up the bag. He dropped back to the ground. “I’ll be up on the rooftop in two minutes.”

“Make it one,” Phobia said. “You have a superhero to kill.”


	3. Chapter 3

Virgil slung his bag over his shoulder and started his climb up the building. He climbed past the first six stories before pulling himself onto the roof of the building. He dropped into a crouch, rummaging through his bag, pulling out the suit Janus had helped make. He slung his tool belt around his waist, where it hung comfortably. It was outfitted with specially crafted pockets and hooks where he could store his favorite inventions. Next, he pulled on his jacket- both waterproof and flame proof. He zipped it up to his neck and pulled up his hood, overshadowing his eyes. The mask came last. It was a hard, metallic shell that covered the lower half of his face. 

Then, he stooped low and pulled out the rifle and single poisoned dart from his bag.

“Where are you, Nightmare?” Phobia rasped.

“I’m almost in position,” Virgil replied, walking over to the edge of the roof. The noises of the celebration below weren’t as loud up here, and for that he was grateful. The street was a mess of parade floats, confetti, and people.

Virgil loaded the dart into the gun’s chamber.

Ingrid was the one to come up with the simple plan. When she’d told the group, Winston had complained about not being included, but Phobia pointed out that Winston, who most people knew as the Puppeteer, wasn’t capable of keeping anything simple.

So it was only the three of them on the field. Virgil had one dart crafted by Leroy Flinn, their poisons specialist. Leroy had offered to make him more, but he declined. He only needed one to finish the job. If he missed, he wouldn’t get a second chance.

But he wouldn’t miss. He was going to kill the Captain.

Once he was hit, Ingrid the Detonator would emerge and hit the Council’s float with her signature explosives. Phobia would focus on Thunderbird. As the only member of the Council that could fly, she would have an unfair advantage. There were rumors that she was deathly afraid of snakes, and Phobia specialized in fears. Best case scenario, he’d give her a heart attack midair.

And that was it- the Council, the five original Renegades- all eradicated at once.

And it all started with Virgil getting past Captain Chromium’s invincibility.

“Nightmare, you in position?”

“I’m here, Detonator. Relax.” 

“You have 45 seconds to make the shot,” Phobia informed him.

“Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?” Ingrid said.

Virgil took out his rifle and looked through the scope. Though he couldn’t see the Council’s float yet, he could tell by the excited cheers that it was close.

“Well done, Nightmare,” the Detonator said. 

“He hasn’t done anything yet,” Phobia replied.

“Yeah, but isn’t it nice to have a shooter on the team again?”

“Would you two zip it?” Virgil grumbled, looking through the scope again. Below, the Council’s float moved into view. It was an enormous tiered structure that made him think The Council thought they were gods. 

Scratch that. They definitely thought they were gods.

Tamaya Rae- or as the rest of the world knew her, Thunderbird- stood on the first pedestal, her black wings almost spanning the width of the float. She occasionally sent bolts of lightning to further ignite the storm clouds at her feet.

Blacklight was on the second tier, shooting fireworks from his fingertips. With his red beard and curly mustache, Virgil had always thought Evander Wade looked more like a mustache twirling villain than a superhero. 

Next was Kasumi Hasegawa. She stood, barely moving with her arms extended, manipulating the fish filled water that surrounded her.

The fourth pedestal appeared to be empty at first glance, which meant that Simon Westwood was standing there. Sure enough, The Dread Warden flickered into view. A second later, he went invisible again, and the crowd roared in wonder as he reappeared not on his own pedestal, but on the fifth and tallest platform, Captain Chromium’s.

Captain Chromium rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder at the Dread Warden. They shared a look that was disgustingly endearing. Virgil resisted the urge to gag.

Virgil eased himself into position, calculating the angle and distance. 

The Dread Warden disappeared and reappeared again on his own platform, leaving Captain Chromium alone on the top pedestal.

As the crowd’s cheering grew louder, he reached for a display stand at his side. His hands wrapped around a long metal pike, lifting it overhead. His smile never wavered the entire time.

Virgil’s heart stopped.

“Is that…?”

“Don’t dwell on it,” Phobia hissed.

“Don’t dwell on what?” Ingrid asked.

Virgil was unable to respond.

Captain Chromium, the beloved superhero, had Ace Anarchy’s helmet skewered at the top of the pike. 

Ingrid’s voice came through the headset again, understanding as the float passed into her view. “Oh…” Virgil barely heard her. He was too busy grinding his teeth until his jaw hurt.

He was six years old again, afraid. Devastated. Staring up into those eyes behind the helmet.

The Renegades had not come. But he had. Maybe not soon enough to save his family, but still, he had come.

That was more than the Renegades could say, anyway.

“You’re dwelling,” Phobia said, not an ounce of sympathy in his voice.

Virgil growled. “Am not.”

“It’s alright, Nightmare,” Ingrid said. “We’re doing this for Ace, aren’t we? Use that anger. Avenge him.”

Virgil took a deep breath. He looked through the scope, lining up the sights.

It had to be the eye. Anywhere else, and it would just bounce off his impenetrable skin.

His aim had to be perfect. 

And it would be.

The Street below began to fall silent, drowned out by the roaring in his ears. The

Captain’s blue eye came into focus. 

“Pull the trigger,” He whispered. He curled his finger over the trigger.

The Council may have been getting older, but they still held all the power. 

“Pull the trigger, Virgil.”

This was the best opportunity to take down the entire Renegade Council.

All he had to do was pull the trigger.

A bug flew into his vision. He waved it away, irritated.

He found his target again. The Captain turned slightly toward him.

Virgil started to squeeze the trigger when something landed on the end of his rifle. He lifted his eyes to see a crow staring back at him.

He lifted his gaze to the sky, where a murder of crows hovered. Dozens of wings flapped as the crows stared at him with their black, beady eyes.

He sighed. “We’ve got company.”  
“What is it? The Renegades?”

He didn’t answer. The float was turning. Five seconds left, at most.

Virgil looked through the sights and found the Captain’s eye again. 

Captain Chromium lifted his eyes, almost looking directly at him.

He pulled the trigger.

To his dismay, the Captain turned slightly, and the dart struck his temple. The needle tip snapped off.

Captain Chromium jerked to attention, scanning the rooftops. He alerted the others, and they began looking too.

“Shit,” he muttered as he ducked behind the ledge.

Suddenly, one of the crows snatched the rifle out of his hands, squawking. He leapt to his feet and whirled around.

The crows converged into the form of a pale teenage boy with glasses. He gripped the rifle as he glared at Virgil. He wore the Renegade uniform- a form-fitting outfit that went from his neck down to his boots. A red R was emblazoned on his chest.

A small black cat clambered onto the roof before shifting into another teenage boy. He was also wearing the Renegade uniform. His hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days.

Virgil growled. Crow and Copycat.

Virgil had met them once before, when he had tried to steal from a pharmacy for supplies, but there had been more of them.

He raised an eyebrow. “Where are the rest of you? Watching the parade?”

As soon as he had said it, the utility elevator dinged, and a third Renegade walked out- a boy with light brown skin and dark hair. He walked with a limp and a cane. Faint tendrils of smoke followed him in his wake. 

Smokescreen.

Virgil smirked. “That’s more like it.”

Ingrid’s voice crackled in his voice. “Nightmare, what’s going on over there?”

Virgil ignored her. 

“Nightmare,” Smokescreen said, adjusting his glasses. “Long time no see.”

Without replying, he reached for his belt and drew out two throwing stars, throwing them at Copycat and Crow. Copycat dodged. Crow dissolved into a flock of birds.

A bolt of black smoke struck Virgil in the face. He stumbled back, snarling.

“Nightmare,  _ what is going on? _ ” Ingrid asked again. Virgil snarled and turned the transmitter off.

He shook his head to clear the smoke, but only succeeded in making his eyes burn. He forced them open anyway, only catching a glimpse of a streak of black before Crow was right in front of him. He grunted as Crow elbowed him in the stomach and he fell to the ground. He rolled out of the way of another attack from Copycat and jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his gut and the tears that blurred his vision.

Something hooked beneath his chin, pulling against his throat- Smokescreen’s cane. He yanked him backward, grabbing his arm as soon as Virgil was close enough.

“Your days of villainy are over, Nightmare,” Smokescreen said.

Virgil fought a snicker. “You sound like you’ve read too many comic books.”

“Is that really a bad thing?”

Virgil felt around for his hands on either side of the cane, but found no exposed skin. 

Smokescreen’s grip tightened. “Are you working alone?”

In front of him, Copycat picked up the two throwing stars he had flung and, after inspecting each very carefully, crushed them under his boots.

Virgil scowled.

Crow formed again, glaring down at him. “I believe you were asked a question.”

Ignoring Crow, Virgil grabbed Smokescreen’s cane and kicked back, Wrenching the cane away. Smokescreen landed on his back with a grunt. 

Virgil struck the back of Crow’s knees with the cane before discarding it in favor of another throwing star. Before he could throw it, however, Copycat shifted into a large dog and tackled him to the ground. He rested a paw on Virgil’s throat with just enough pressure for it to hurt. 

“Who,” Copycat said, lips pulled back in a snarl, “are you working for?”

Virgil smiled slowly. He couldn’t resist a good play on words. “Your worst Nightmare.” he put a hand on Copycat’s furry leg and let his power flow through him. Copycat slowly shifted back into human form and fell to the ground beside him, unconscious. 

A wave of mist suddenly rolled across the rooftop. Virgil huffed in frustration as he scanned the rooftop for Smokescreen, but the mist was too thick to see. He unhooked a dagger from his belt, gripping it tightly.

He spotted a dark shape- his duffel bag. He dove toward it and picked it up.

Crow suddenly appeared out of the mist, a fist aimed for his head. Virgil ducked and stabbed upward, but he dissolved into a flock of crows just as the knife met flesh.

The smoke began to clear, and Virgil spotted his escape route- The rooftop next to him with a ladder that went back down to street level.

“Crow!” Smokescreen shouted.

Virgil paused long enough to see Crow back in human form, pressing a hand to his side. His gray suit was dark with blood.

Turning back to the other building, Virgil took a slight step back before leaping the gap. He landed on his stomach and he laid there for a second, catching his breath.

He quickly got to his feet and started to run to the far side of the roof when a large figure jumped up from the street below. They landed in front of him with a clang.

Rather than the gray bodysuit the Renegades wore, the stranger was dressed in something better described as armor. Metal plates covered his body, and his face was masked by a helmet and black visor. The Renegade R was emblazoned on their chest, but it didn’t look like any Renegade suit Virgil had seen. Perhaps a new model?

Though he couldn’t see their eyes, he could feel them staring at him as he took a step back.

“Can’t say I’ve seen you before,” Virgil said.

They tilted their head. “I’ve been around long enough to know who you are, Nightmare.” their voice was definitely male.

Virgil’s fingers skimmed his belt, but he wasn’t sure any of his weapons would be effective. “Is that supposed to flatter me?”

Before the stranger could reply, a bout of high pitched laughter echoed throughout the streets. The sound was all too familiar.

Virgil winced. “What is that  _ idiot _ doing here?”


	4. Chapter 4

The Stranger turned his head toward the sound of laughter just as a hot air balloon rose into view over the parade. The balloon was black and white with an acid green anarchy symbol spray painted on it. The basket carried one occupant- a man with bright orange hair, painted red cheeks, and black makeup that made him look like a marionette.

The Puppeteer.

“Oh Reeeenegades,” he shouted in a sing-song voice. “Doesn’t anyone want to play with me?”

The cheers below him turned into screams of fright as shimmering gold strings emerged from his fingers and descended into the crowd below. Though Virgil couldn’t see where they landed, he knew the Puppeteer would be seeking out the children. Those who were touched by his strings would be under his control. Virgil had never liked the Puppeteer’s powers.

“Tag!” the Puppeteer shouted. “You’re it!”

The screams only grew louder.

“Friend of yours?”

Virgil glanced at the armored stranger. “Sort of.”

The Puppeteer laughed again, and the stranger’s hands balled into fists. He couldn’t fault him for his annoyance. Virgil wasn’t the biggest fan of Winston Pratt either, and they were technically on the same side.

While the armored stranger was distracted, Virgil pulled out the netting gun he had made himself. The figure turned toward him just as Virgil pulled the trigger, sending a net soaring toward him. Its ends spread out and landed on the stranger.

He dropped to one knee. He struggled, but that only made his entanglement worse.

Virgil smirked. “Have fun with that.” he tossed the gun back into his bag and ran for the edge of the building, looking for the easiest way to the next building.

“We’re not done.”

Virgil looked back to see the stranger wrap his fingers around the ropes. As he watched, smoke hissed from the stranger’s hands and suddenly the whole net was set ablaze.

Before long, the net was nothing but ash. The stranger walked up to Virgil, peering down at him.

Virgil quirked a brow, unimpressed. “So. Another fire elemental?”

The stranger bent his knees, lowering himself into a crouch before he sprang upward, clearing Virgil’s head by a few feet. He landed on the rooftop behind him. The ground shook as he landed.

A fire elemental with a fancy anti gravity suit? Or a prodigy with both powers? Virgil hadn’t heard of anyone with two completely different powers.

“You can’t escape me, Nightmare,” the stranger said. “You  _ will _ answer for your crimes.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I have plans for this afternoon.”

A shadow passed overhead- a flock of crows turning into the shape of a teenage boy.

As Crow took form, Virgil looked between the Renegade and the stranger. He was trapped.

Virgil hated being trapped.

Crow frowned at the armored man. A hasty bandage had been wrapped around his thigh. “Who are you?”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then, the stranger said in a noticeable deeper voice, “I am the Sentinel.”

Virgil failed to hold in a laugh. “Seriously?”

The Sentinel turned his head toward him, and Virgil wasn’t sure he was imagining the way he puffed his chest out defensively.

Crow looked between him and the Sentinel. “Ally of yours?”

Virgil’s hands tightened on the handles of his duffel bag. “I’m really not that friendly. Besides, he’s wearing your logo.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed as he took in the Red R on the Sentinel’s chest.

Losing interest in the conversation, Virgil heaved his bag over his shoulder and took out the dagger from his belt. He swung the blade at Crow’s chest, but he dispersed before he could hit anything. He growled and continued to swing at the flock, giving up when he only managed to dislodge a single feather.

Two arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. Virgil clenched his teeth and kicked backward. He yelped but didn’t release him as his foot hit the edge of the building.

With one more push, he sent them both plummeting off the rooftop. They hit the next rooftop with a jolt and a clang. 

Though his body ached, Virgil forced himself to get to his feet. He scanned his surroundings. They had landed on a rooftop garden, surrounded by porch furniture and potted plants.

He caught a glimpse of the Puppeteer’s balloon floating through the city streets. Flashes of bright lights attacked the balloon. Blacklight trying to distract the villain, or Thunderbird trying to hit the balloon.

The Crows returned, forming a shadow overhead. The Sentinel groaned and lifted his head.

“Hey, Sentinel,” Virgil said, tightening his grip on the dagger.

The Sentinel glanced at him.

He plunged the knife in the space between the chest and shoulder plates.

The Sentinel roared and shoved him away. He raised an arm, his palm suddenly engulfed in flames. 

Virgil ducked and pulled his hood over his head, thanking his past self for adding a flame resistant coating to his suit.

A cry of pain shocked him enough to stop running and look back.

The flock of crows converged into the teenage boy. The flames had hit a portion of the flock, and the remaining wisps of ash seemed to melt into the man’s side. His uniform was blackened and smoking, and he could smell the distinct scent of burnt flesh.

The fire escape rattled, and Smokescreen appeared, pulling himself up with his cane. His eyes widened as he spotted his injured teammate. “Crow!”

Taking advantage of the distraction, Virgil turned and ran for the edge of the rooftop. Behind him, he could hear the Sentinel and Smokescreen arguing, and Crow’s heavy, labored breathing.

The Puppeteer’s hot air balloon floated into view.

He threw his duffel bag at him. “Catch!”

The Puppeteer glanced back at him, but made no attempt to catch his bag.

“Good afternoon, little Nightmare,” Winston said in a cheery tone. “What a delightful surprise to see you here.”

His hands were still spread out over the crowd, so Virgil assumed he was still controlling the helpless children below. He glanced down long enough to see a little girl try to bite an old man’s arm.

Wincing, he reached a hand toward Winston. “Throw me a rope or something!” he yelled.

The Puppeteer glanced at him with emotionless eyes. “You have a tagalong.”

A hand grabbed his elbow and spun him around. Fingers wrapped around his throat, making him wheeze.

“You tried to assassinate Captain Chromium,” the Sentinel growled. “Why? Who are you working for?” The helmet obscured his face, but his voice was furious.

“You Renegades sure do ask a lot of questions,” he said, trying to sound confident, but that confidence was slowly waning as the fingers closed even tighter around his throat.

“You’d better start answering them.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not scared of a neophyte in a fancy suit.”

The Sentinel tilted his head. “Neophyte?”

“Amatuer. You’re obviously new at this,” Virgil said.

“I know what it-” he cut himself off with an annoyed grunt. “Look, I don’t care if you’re afraid of me or not, but I know you’re at least a little afraid of dying, like we all are.”

Virgil huffed out a laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. “Well, you know what they say- one cannot be brave who has no fear.”

The Sentinel jerked back as if he had struck him. Virgil quickly reached forward and pressed his fingers into the stab wound on the Sentinel’s chest. He flinched at the feel of hot, sticky blood, but it was all he needed.

“What are you-”

He unleashed his power, as powerful as he could make it.

His breath hitched, and he stood immobale for a moment. Virgil cried out and grabbed his forearm to pull himself back onto the roof as the Sentinel fell forward.

“Niiiiiightmaaare,” 

Rubbing his throat, he turned toward the hot air balloon. The Puppeteer tossed a few shimmering gold threads toward him and he grabbed them. He gathered the last of his strength and leaped off the building, scrambling into the basket in a heap.

“Thanks, Winston,” he gasped once he had caught his breath.

He didn’t respond- his attention was already back on the children he had under his control.

Once he had his strength back, he forced himself to stand and look over the side of the basket.

The street below was in chaos. Many of the Puppeteer’s puppets lay unconscious on the sidewalks, though even more had strings around their wrists or necks.

The Dread Warden had gone invisible, while Tsunami kept trying to trap puppets in a swirling tidal wave- though she was largely unsuccessful.

Virgil touched the transmitter behind his ear and turned it on. “Detonator, Phobia, what’s your position?”

Detonator’s voice answered back. “Nightmare! Where have you been?”

Virgil hesitated, looking back at the rooftop where he had fought with the Renegades. “I… made some new friends.”

A shadow brought his attention back to the scene. Thunderbird’s enormous black wings spread out against the blue sky. She gripped a thunderbolt in one hand.

“Shit,” Virgil muttered.

“Hello birdie!” Winston giggled.

Thunderbird lifted her free hand and thrust it toward the balloon. The air boomed, and the balloon was shoved backwards toward a building. Virgil was thrown into the wall of the basket.

“Release those children now, Puppeteer,” Thunderbird said fiercely. 

Virgil scrambled for his bag and pulled out the netting gun. He aimed at Thunderbird and pulled the trigger.

The roped entangled Thunderbird’s wings and she was falling, falling toward the street-

-Right into Captain Chromium’s arms.

He set her down, then turned his eyes skyward. He was no longer smiling. His eyes met Virgil’s, and he gulped.

“We could really use some assistance, Detonator!” Virgil yelled into the transmitter.

“Puppeteer wasn’t part of this operation,” came the dry response. “If he wants to act alone, he can die alone.”

“Wait- I’m up here too!”

Down below, Captain Chromium hefted his pike.

“Good luck, Nightmare. This mission is over.”

His transmitter went silent.

Captain Chromium lifted his pike, steadied his aim, and threw.

The javelin struck the balloon’s heater with a deafening clang, disconnecting the propane line. The flame spluttered and went out. The balloon gradually started to lose altitude.

Virgil looked around wildly. While they would have cleared the next set of buildings easily, he doubted they could make it now.

Winston cocked his head. “Uh-oh.”

Virgil held his gaze, thinking.

If they could lose weight, they might have a chance of clearing the next block, hopefully enough distance between them and the Renegades. 

He turned to his duffel bag. All his inventions. His life’s work.

Winston pouted and faked a sympathetic look. “Sometimes sacrifices have to be made, Little Nightmare.”

Virgil sighed. “You’re absolutely right.”

Then, he hooked his arm around the Puppeteer’s waist and threw him out of the basket.

Virgil hauled himself up to his feet and inspected the heater. The balloon barely cleared the next building, giving him enough time to reaffix the propane line. He fiddled with the lighter switch a few times, and the flames burst to life.

The balloon started gaining altitude.

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief before looking back at the street.

The Puppeteer had landed on a parade float. He was covered in confetti as Captain Chromium heaved him to the ground. 

Winston didn’t struggle. He kept his gaze on Virgil’s the entire time. His mouth slowly turned upward in a maniacal grin.

Virgil lifted his arm and waved.


	5. Chapter 5

Roman woke up feeling like garbage. He groaned and tried to roll onto his side before remembering he was still in the Sentinel suit. The metal dug into his bag and pressed into his skin, making him feel trapped.

His whole body ached, but his shoulder hurt the worst. It was warm and sticky with blood.

He managed to sit up despite his aching body. The sky was beginning to darken, and for the first time he wondered how long he had laid there. Five or six hours, if he had to guess. He was lucky he’d been knocked out up on the rooftop, where it was unlikely that anyone would find him.

He was still shocked that Nightmare had managed to catch him off guard. And  _ stab _ him, too. Left him prone and vulnerable and useless. He quickly shook the thought away.

Roman wondered if Patton and the others were still at headquarters. Probably, he thought, since both Logan and Remus were injured in the fight. He winced, remembering how  _ he _ was the one that had burned Logan.

He checked to make sure no one was peering at him through the windows, then pressed his fingers into the center of the chestpiece. 

The armor clunked and hissed, peeling off his skin and folding onto itself like origami until it was no bigger than an aluminum can. He tucked it over his chest and pulled on the zipper tattoo he had inked weeks ago.

He moved his arms, but his shoulder immediately screamed at him to stop. He looked down. There was a gash in the fabric where Nightmare had stabbed him. Though the compression of the suit stopped most of the bleeding, one glance told him he had lost a lot of blood. His entire right side was damp, his shirt blackened by blood.

Roman cursed Nightmare in every way he knew how as he very carefully pulled his shirt over his head, wincing everytime he moved his injured shoulder.

Nightmare had defeated him with only a few low-tech gadgets and a power that required skin to skin contact. How had he beaten him?

Roman sighed, recognizing his own feeble attempt to defend his pride. He had gotten cocky. End of story.

He shook his head, chuckling humorlessly. “Next time,” he promised. Next time, he would be ready.

Pulling a marker from his jeans pocket, he sketched a cloth onto the brick wall beside him before pulling it into the tangible world. He dipped the cloth into a nearby bucket of water and dabbed at the blood on his shoulder. The injury didn’t look quite as bad when all the blood was gone. It didn’t look like anything important was stabbed, anyway.

After close inspection of the wound, Roman planted the tip of the marker on his skin and began to draw a series of stitches. When he was done, he capped the marker and tucked it away along with the cloth he had drawn. He stared at the fire tattoo he had inked on his left forearm months ago.

It was what had given him the power of fire manipulation. Maybe not the most creative thing, but it was one of the most coveted powers among prodigies. Between that, the armored suit, and the springs he had inked onto the soles of his feet, he’d been confident that he was unstoppable.

But Nightmare had proven him wrong.

Not just that. He’d  _ mocked _ him.

He reluctantly got to his feet, summoning the courage to look down at the street where the parade had passed. The celebration had been replaced with a sullen quiet as cleanup crews sweeped up confetti and food wrappers and looted merchandise left over from the Puppeteer’s attack.

Nightmare had gotten away on the Puppeteer’s balloon. Was he working with him? Was he an Anarchist?

It made sense. The Anarchists were one of the few villain gangs that were still around. They were the ones that hated the Renegades the most.

And that's why Nightmare was up there, wasn’t it? He was going after the Council.

His jaw clenched.

Most of the Anarchist’s identities have been known for years. Winston Pratt. Ingrid Thompson. Janus Sanders. Leroy Flinn.

But Nightmare… he was a mystery. And a threat.

He’d almost forgotten about the words Nightmare had said to him right before he knocked him out. Even now, he wasn’t sure it was real and not some dream he’d spun up in his sleep.

One cannot be brave who has no fear.

Roman released a shuddering breath. It couldn’t have been a dream. He’d really said those words.

“Nightmare,” he whispered. “Who are you, really?”


End file.
